


Where lost boys go

by Beleriandings



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Death, Children of Earth Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: Ianto wakes up in the dark. There's someone else there too.
Relationships: Ianto Jones & Steven Carter, background Jack/Ianto
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Where lost boys go

Ianto raised his head, blinking. He wondered, for a moment, where he was; it was dark, and he couldn’t see anything. Maybe he’d gone blind? That thought brought a bolt of fear with it, but it was soon banished as he remembered what had really happened.

Oh yes, that was it.

He was dead.

He sat on the...something, on which he was sitting, waiting for the paroxysms, the sobbing shakes that he thought maybe he should feel in reaction to that. But there was only a solid coldness in his chest, and feeling that there was a deep, infinite well of sadness somewhere within his heart that he hadn’t even reached yet.

Delayed response, he thought blandly. Sometimes, grief can take a little while, or manifest in odd ways, long after the loss in question. He supposed that probably also applied when it was grief for one’s own death. Not that he was an expert.

He did miss Jack, though. He felt an inkling of that deep well of grief as he thought of Jack, left without him. Losing him, as he’d lose everyone in his life. Jack would get over it, Ianto knew. Would get over him. but wounds like that built up over time, and Jack didn’t deserve that.

The thought of Jack, however, was bringing that rising tide a little closer than Ianto was ready for right now. He forced himself to look around himself again, to distract himself. But he saw only darkness.

He frowned. Just like Suzie and Owen had said. He wondered if they were here too, and Tosh, and Lisa, and all the others who had died.

It was difficult to believe they were, somehow; this place felt so empty, in a way that was both more and less than literal, all at once. Maybe, Ianto reasoned, there was some sort of in-between place, and this was it. It made his head spin to think about that though, so he tried to think about more practical concerns instead.

He tried to remember what he knew about being dead. He suspected that he knew more than most people, what with Suzie, Owen, and Jack. Not that Jack was very forthcoming about being dead, the one time Ianto had asked him about it – curled up in bed together in the dark of the night, the only place where they could ever really have that kind of conversation.

But the others. Ianto remembered words, words that sent his heart into his throat.

 _There’s s_ _omething moving in the darkness_.

And, he realised a moment later, there really was. He could hear something, close by and yet not.

He braced himself for some great demon from the dawn of time, perhaps. But no, he realised. It didn’t sound threatening.

It sounded like someone crying.

In fact, he thought, furrowing his brow and doing something loosely equivalent to standing up and looking around, it was definitely someone crying. Big, noisy sobs, somewhere just out of his range of vision, ragged with distress. So unguarded, it almost sounded like the way a child would cry, pouring all their sorrow and fear into it.

He turned around again, the sound tugging at his heart. Whoever that was crying, he found himself wanting to go to them, even though he didn’t really have anything to say that was comforting. What was there to say?

He turned in a circle again.

And then, he saw something; there was no light here, but he saw something anyway, in the same inexplicable way he could see himself. A glimpse of blond hair, a small figure curled up on the not-ground, knees drawn up and curled small.

The reason he’d thought it sounded like a child, Ianto realised, was because it was a child. A little boy of probably no more than ten, who raised his tear-stained face from his hands when Ianto approached.

The boy’s blue eyes were wide, surprised out of his tears by the sight of another person. After a moment, Ianto saw a flicker of fear there.

“...Hello” he said, stooping down by the boy’s side. “Um. Don’t be scared.” He resisted the urge to grimace; he’d never been that good with knowing how to talk to children. With his sister’s children – _and oh, god, he was never going to see Rhiannon again, and he’d never see Mica and David grow up, and he’d never see anyone again, and he was dead, and what would they think when they found out?_ \- he’d usually defaulted to treating them like small adults, which had mostly gone alright. But he didn’t have a clue what you were supposed to do to comfort a child in such obvious distress. This boy, he reasoned, had probably just died if he was here. Ianto didn’t even know how to begin to address that.

“Hello” he said again, waving awkwardly. “Ah. I’m Ianto. What’s your name?”

The boy hiccuped, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “S-Steven” he said. “Steven Carter. I’m nine and three quarters.”

“Hello, Steven. Like I said, I’m Ianto. Jones. I’m twenty-five – no, twenty-six, now.” His birthday had been just a few weeks ago; Ianto had almost forgotten himself until Jack had reminded him, and then of course their date plans had been ruined by the Rift and a night of the three of them running through the rainy streets of Cardiff; Gwen had got him a cake from the twenty-four hour Tesco as a consolation, and the three of them had eaten it together in the Hub at four AM.

Steven looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh. Twenty- _six_? That’s old.”

“...No, it’s not” said Ianto, feeling the tide of sadness rise inside him again, threatening to overspill. He'd always assumed he wouldn't live to old age; not in this job. But he'd thought - hoped, really - he'd have just a little more time.... Ianto forced himself to concentrate. “Why… are you here? I mean, what happened...” he stopped, cursing himself silently; asking a nine-year-old about his recent death was down there with the worst ideas he’d had in a while.

But Steven didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore; he was looking all around. “Have you seen my mum? I want to see my mum.”

Ianto winced; he supposed he’d brought this on himself. He had no good answer to that. Something was tugging at the back of his mind, something recent, but he pushed it aside for now. “Um, no, I haven’t seen her” he said, sitting down on the not-ground beside the little boy.

“Where’s uncle Jack?”

Ianto’s not-breath caught in his throat. “Uncle...Jack?”

“Mm-hmm.” Steven started to tear up again, wiping his face with his wrist. “I was standing on this...thingy, in a big room, and Uncle Jack told me I’d be okay, that it wasn’t scary. But it _hurt_ , and then…” he looked around, confused. “I was here. I might’ve done something wrong, though...Uncle Jack looked all upset.”

Ianto opened his mouth and closed it again. All he could think of was Jack’s words, back in the warehouse. Telling him about his daughter, Alice, and his grandson. Steven.

 _Oh, Jack_ , Ianto thought. He wanted to take Jack in his arms and hold him, knowing he’d need it.

But Jack wasn’t here; Steven was, and currently, his shoulders were starting to shake with tears again. “I want to see mum!” he sobbed. “I want to see Uncle Jack!”

“...Um...shush, now...” Ianto tried, awkwardly putting his arm around Steven’s narrow shoulders. Ianto drew his knees up too, holding the boy in his arms as he cried. His own eyes closed, and he could feel his own hot tears there too; tears for himself, for Steven, for Jack. For the whole world. “Sshh...” he said, as much to himself as to Steven. “He’ll be along soon, I expect. ...For a little bit, at least.”

Maybe that was all either of them could hope for.


End file.
